


the other side

by Patrocool (all_the_homo)



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 50s au, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - 50s, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, race wears skirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 22:24:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13844271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_the_homo/pseuds/Patrocool
Summary: Spot Conlon, a greaser and leader of the Brooklynite gang is completely swept off his feet by a boy with a blue poodle skirt.





	the other side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [randomerey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomerey/gifts).



> for em!!! love you!! i hope you enjoy this<333
> 
> the first parts of this are inspired by rock and riot, a webcomic that i highly recommend reading cause its really sweet
> 
> the title is from the other side from the greatest showman.
> 
> em, i know i said angst, but it ended a lot differently than i thought and tbh i like this ending more. i might add more to this at some point.

Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklynites gang, was not easily impressed. In fact, he was rather well-known for his unimpressed glare that he seemed to look at everyone with. His daily activities usually included racing cars, smoking cigarettes, and talking to his gang. So, when a pretty boy in a poodle skirt suddenly showed up, he was surprised to find himself so enraptured by him.

Spot strolled down the hallway casually, unlit cigar hanging from his lips, his hair greased back. His gang was following close behind him, Crunch, as his second, immediately to his right, with Poppy, Sunshine, Ace, Bee, and Stitches following close behind. Together, the seven of them made the Brooklynites. They were on their way to the gym, to smoke on the bleachers, when Spot caught sight of an olive skinned boy with blonde curls and freckles pulling some books out of his locker. 

He swallowed and glanced at Crunch, acting casual. “Go on ahead,” he said, waving his hand. “There’s something I want to take care of.”

She shot him a look, brow raised, but said nothing. She continued on, not pausing her stride. Her cornrows tapped lightly on her lower back with each step, and the others followed her without a second glance at Spot.

Spot headed over to the boy, who he now realized had a cream colored blouse with a bright blue poodle skirt on. Startled, he paused and gawked a little, amazed by how well he pulled off the skirt and then the boy saw him. Blue-grey eyes met his, and he saw Spot staring. He glanced down and then back up, and with a huff, the boy stormed off.

Spot stood there in shock for a moment, not understanding what just happened.

*****

Later that day, in the class just before lunch, Spot walked in and was startled to see the pretty boy in his algebra class. He hesitated briefly, and chose to sit in front of him rather than going to the back of the room in his usual seat. He took off his leather jacket casually and adjusted the red and black striped shirt he wore, internally grateful that his signature look was the sleeves ripped off of his shirts. He leaned back and stretched his arms out, flexing his arms in the way he knew made girls swoon.

He heard a scoff and grumbling from behind him, and he startled, pulling his arms down. He glanced behind him to see the boy scowling as he looked at the board determinedly, obviously trying to read what was on the chalkboard.

Cheeks burning, Spot twisted forward and hunched over his stuff, faking indifference. He was glad his skin was dark enough that nobody could tell his face was red with embarrassment. He definitely did something wrong and pissed him off, but damn he wanted to impress the pretty boy. 

He had been reading the news a lot. Reading about protests and marches about woman, and black people, and finally, finally, they were making progress. People were noticing. 

And then there was someone named Bayard Rustin that came to his attention. The mentor of Martin Luther King Jr., a major activist in the Civil Rights Movement. Rustin was all for nonviolence and equality for all. He was African American, a Socialist, a Democrat, and the most revolutionary of all? He was gay.

This rocked Spot’s world when he first heard of the man. He knew there were others like him, of course, but he had never met anyone like that, and to hear about an activist for it? It was groundbreaking. 

Maybe the pretty boy was an activist. Maybe that’s why he wore the skirts.

He suddenly stiffened. Or maybe pretty boy wasn’t a boy at all, and they were like Elmer, or maybe even Albie. Elmer was a boy even though he used to be a girl (Spot wasn’t sure if that was the right way to put it, but what did any of them know? They were a bunch of high schoolers in the 50s, there isn’t any vocabulary for this kind of thing), and Albie was just… Albie. 

He should definitely find out so he didn’t call the new kid the wrong thing.

***** 

“So, what’s with the skirt?” Spot asked upon seeing the new kid walk into the bathroom where he was smoking. He had blurted it out without thinking, being the idiot he was, and he regretted it once he saw the way the kid froze up, like he expected to be hit. They stared at each other for a long moment before the new kid squared up their shoulders and marched forward, snatching the cigarette from Spot’s fingers.

“That’s for me to know, and you to never find out,” they said, taking a drag from Spot’s bud and blowing the smoke into his face. Then, before Spot could do anything, they whipped around and stalked out, skirt swaying with each step.

Spot didn’t know what he did wrong but goddamn, if that was going to happen, he’d gladly do it again.

*****

The new kid was sitting on a bench outside of school reading a book and Spot was most definitely not staring. He was just… Observing. So what if he just happened to be hidden from view? It was a perfectly reasonable thing to do, damn it.

Spot casually glanced around the trunk of the tree he was leaning against to look at the new kid. Damn them for being so pretty. Cheeks burning, he jerked back and started planning his next move. How the hell could he impress them?

An idea hit him hard and Spot grinned, pushing himself off the tree. It was genius, completely foolproof. After all, who wasn’t impressed by a greaser and his hot rod?

Apparently the new kid. As Spot sped down the road, the top down on his flip-top, he could see the new kid scowl and cover their ears, glaring daggers at him. He swallowed and turned his eyes back towards the road. So maybe he had misjudged how impressed the new kid would be at his machine, but really, who could blame him? He was practically worshipped at school since he was leader of the Brooklynites.

He pulled off the side of the road and hopped out of the car. It didn’t matter if he was worshipped at school, he didn’t want that. All he wanted was for the new kid to like him.

(And maybe kiss him, but that’s beyond the point.)

As nonchalantly as possible, he headed toward the bench, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He came up to the bench and rocked awkwardly from heel to toe and back, biting his lip. The new kid didn’t seem to notice him, absorbed back into their book.

“The handle is Conlon,” he said, trying to sound cool. “Spot Conlon.”

The new kid’s head whipped towards him, and a blonde eyebrow was raised in his direction. They were, to be frank, very unimpressed. “Ah, an actor, are we?” They said sarcastically. “Does it look like I care? Put an egg in your shoe and beat it, nosebleed, there ain’t nothing here for you.”

Spot blinked, startled a little. “What’s with the bad mood, Dolly? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“One, don’t call me that, and two, what do you mean you didn’t mean to upset me? You’ve been bugging me all day! You stared at me before school, you blocked my view of the board in class, you tried to harass me in the bathroom, and now you’re driving around with your obnoxiously loud car right in front of where I’m reading?” They scoffed and clenched their fists, slamming their book down on the bench. “To be frank, you’re being a real punk! Go gent bent, you tool!”

Spot came to the realization that maybe the new kid hadn’t caught on with the fact that he was trying to flirt with them. 

“Well, this is as good as time as any to tell you I wasn’t trying to harass or upset you?” He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why in the world would harass you?”

They gave him a look as if he was stupid. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe ‘cause I’m a boy wearing a skirt?”

Spot looked down and then back up again, feeling dumb. “Oh. Well, at least I know what you prefer now.”

They- he? Stared at Spot, clearly confused. “Sorry, what?”

Spot shrugged uncomfortably. Its just- I uh… Well, you see, I didn’t know if you were like. A boy or if you were an Elmer kind of situation, or maybe even like Albie? I tried to ask about it in the bathroom, but I didn’t know how to ask. Looking back on it, I understand why you were confused and thought I was being an ass. That plus the fact that I’m usually an ass, but I have a weak spot for pretty people so.” He rubbed his arm awkwardly and sighed. “Can we start over maybe? This has all been kind of a mess.”

He looked startled at the information being poured out, mouth open slightly. He looked around nervously. “You could get arrested for saying stuff like that,” he hissed urgently.

Spot snorted. “You could get arrested for wearing a skirt. I figured I’m in company. You ain’t a square like the rest of them.” He bit his lip a little, suddenly worried that he had judged wrong. “Right?”

The new boy nodded quickly, holding his hands up. “Of course I ain’t a square, it’s not like I’m wearing these skirts just cause. I mean, I do like wearing them, but that’s not why I wear them.”

Spot held out his hand and smiled crookedly. “Start over?” he suggested. “This time knowing that we’re not out to hurt each other?”

He smiled back and shook his hand. “I’m in for that,” he said. “Truce.”

“Now,” Spot said with a smirk. “I’m Spot Conlon. What’s your name, pretty boy?”

He smiled, blue eyes full of mirth and mischief. “Racetrack Higgins,” he replied. “Now zip your lips and kiss me, asshole.”

*****

Linked fingers, shared cigarettes, milkshakes with two straws, greased black hair next to golden curls, whispered French and Gaelic at two thirty AM, dancing in the dark on the side of the road where no one will see, warm bodies with even warmer hearts, and souls growing to be intertwined. 

Being with each other came easy to Race and Spot, like they had known each other for years rather than months. It had been slow and shy at first until they got bolder and more secure with each other, which led to this moment. Spot, laying in the backseat of his car with Race curled up to his side, head on his shoulder and their lags tangled. Spot squeezed his lover gently, his arm around his waist. 

Race glanced up at him, smiling softly. “Mon chou,” he said sweetly. “What do you want, fucker? I was almost asleep.”

Spot chuckled softly and kissed his forehead. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to go home to sleep, you doof.”

Race shrugged and curled back off, bright blue eyes sliding closed. “I’m good right where I am, actually. Thanks for the offer, ask again in the morning.”

He sighed and gently prodded his sides. “Doll, as much as I’d love to let you sleep here, the bulls won’t be too happy if they find us. D’you wanna come sleep at my house? My dad’s outta town.”

“I don’t like your dad,” said Race, frowning. He looked up, more awake. “He’s awful to you.”

Spot’s arms tightened a fraction and he pressed his lips against his forehead. “He’s not home,” he repeated.

Race, picking up on the fact that Spot didn’t want to talk about it, nodded. “Alright, alright,” he said softly, sitting up. He straightened his skirt and smoothed out where it had wrinkled up. “Pass me the due backs and we can split, yeah?”

Spot gave him a quick kiss before climbing into the driver’s seat. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from the dashboard and lit one as Race clambered over into the passenger’s seat. He handed the other boy the lit cigarette and lit a second one to smoke. Cigarette dangling from his lips, he watched Race prop his shiny saddle shoes up on the dash, fixing his pale pink pleated skirt so it didn’t ride up. 

Spot shifted his car into drive and rested his hand on Race’s thigh as they drove off into the night, going faster than they should. Two teenage boys doing the best they could with the world they were given. 

*****

It was one of the few days that Race was busy and Spot was hanging with his gang on the bleachers. His legs were propped up and he was relaxed. Crunch sat next to him with her bandana pulled over her eyes while Poppy, Sunshine and Stitches played poker. Ace and Bee were somewhere inside the school causing mayhem like the shits they were. It was a warm, comfortable, lazy day, and nothing was really going on until there was.

With a shout, Ace was running across the fields towards the rest of the Brooklynites. For a scary moment, Spot thought Bee got stung and that he had to be rushed to the hospital, but then he noticed Bee a few yards behind Ace. Eyebrows furrowed, Spot stood and hurried down the bleachers. While Bee and Ace were the most daring of the Brooklynites, they were also the most vulnerable due to their tiny frames and inability to shut their mouths.

Spot got to the bottom of the bleachers just as Bee and Ace skidded to a halt in front of him. Bee was doubled over and panting, bracing himself against Ace, who looked at Spot urgently. “The Delancy’s,” he managed to say. “They soaked your friend, Racer, real bad. I-it ain’t pretty.”

Spot froze for a split second before nodding at them. “Crunch, Stitches, I need you down here pronto!” He called up to them. He turned to Ace and Bee solemnly. “Lead the way and do it fast.”

*****

The five of them moved quickly across the grass and into the locker room halls where they found the Delancy brothers sneering at a crumpled figure on the ground. Spot’s blood boiled as he recognized the figure as Racetrack.

“Hey!” He shouted, a scowl on his lips. “Didn’t’cha hear? Higgins is a Brooklynite, and we don’t like it when a Brooklynite gets hurt.”

Morris, the older of the two, whipped around and scowled. “Nobody asked, Conlon, this ain’t gang business.”

Spot cocked a brow and cracked his knuckles but Crunch held up her hand calmly. She strode forward casually and stopped right in front of Morris, who was looking skeptical. “You’re right, Morris. This ain’t gang business,” She said, tying her cornrows behind her head with her bandana. “This is personal. That’s my boy you’re hurting. Guess you’ll just have to deal with the consequences.” With that, she whipped back her arm and punched Morris in the nose.

A fight broke out and Spot couldn’t keep track of what was happening. Not that he was trying to. He was completely focused on Race.

He moved forward quickly and scooped Race up gently. He nodded to Stitches, who followed him as he slipped out of the building and away from the school. He made his way to the student parking lot, where he gently laid Race in the backseat of his car to get a good look at him.

Race looked awful, to say the least. His nose was bleeding, his lip was busted, one of his eyes was swelling. He whimpered at every jostle and honestly, Spot wanted to cry looking at him. He gently started wiping the blood off his face with a napkin while Stitches started asking Race questions.

Spot couldn’t pay attention to what they were saying, his blood was roaring in his ears, and he felt so angry that anybody would dare touch Race.

Cold hands touched his face and he flinched and blinked, looking down at the concerned face of his lover. He glanced over to see that Stitches was gone. Race gently guided his face back to look at him. “Sean,” he murmured softly. “Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere. I don’t care, I just wanna go somewhere nobody knows our names. We can just live and breathe and love. What has this shit town ever done for us?”

Spot’s eyes went wide. “You… You want to just leave?” he asked, startled. “What about your family?”

Race laughed weakly. “When was the last time they actually gave a fuck about me?” He shook his head and sat up, kissing Spot gently. “Let’s each pack a bag and steal as much cash as we can and just go, Sean.”

Spot swallowed and then nodded slowly, glancing out the window. “The Brooklynites-”

“Crunch is the one who suggested it. Stitches told me when you were spacing out. They all said that you have their numbers and their addresses, and that they expect you to contact them, but they all know its safest for us to split town.” Race explained softly, holding Spot’s wrist. “Please, baby.”

“Antoine…” Spot whispered, chewing his lip. It made sense, of course it did, and Spot nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said decidedly. “Let’s do it.”

Race’s face split into a grin, and Spot knew he made the right choice.

*****

(Sunset met them speeding down an empty stretch of Route 66, radio blaring with two bags packed in the back seat. The sky was cotton candy pink, and they were happy and in love, and that was enough.)

**Author's Note:**

> kudos are nice, comments make my day:)
> 
> tumblr: patrocool


End file.
